The CFire Project
by Kracken l.w
Summary: Ancient artifacts and state of the art weapons and explosives and a never before seen treatise on Alexander the Great? Just what in the name of all things explosive was Romefeler up to?


Celestial Fire

Chp. 1 End of an Era

By: Kracken l. w.

Disclaimer: I in no way own any of the characters/places etc. Mentioned in this fic

A warehouse , somewhere in old New York.:

_"Are you sure it's here? If not…"_

_"It is."_

_"You must wake him soon, if he is to wake at all short of judgment day."_

_"I know, believe me, I KNOW."_

_"Let's go then"_

_A nod. "After you, Sahib."_

A cynical chuckle floats out of the shadows as the night resumes its near silence.

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I had just gotten out of the shower and was dearly enjoying the thought of a day off when the news came on. I took one look at the weathered ware house with the Romefeller logo on the side and flicked the T. V. off mute. "In world news, a fire in an abandoned warehouse led authorities last night to a hidden armaments cache, including a most unusual selection of artifacts; perhaps the biggest find of pre-Christian items in the last century…" Oh, joy. My partner was just going to love this… Why, _why_, does shit like this always wait for my one day of R&R? Because Murphy fuckin' hates me. That's why. By the time Heero called me five minutes later, I was already in uniform and headed out the door.

My name is Duo Maxwell, and that was the moment my life for the last 13 years went to hell in the proverbial hand basket.

When we arrived at Une's office not an hour later, she was pacing the floor and calling up continuous print outs and reports of every known pre-war Romefeller holding ever remotely known to exist on her holo-screen, and swearing violently at what she read with each new report. "Commander." That's my partner for you, never a word more than he feels is necessary. Lady Une nodded to him in a distracted fashion and kept pacing. " Good morning Commander! May I be the first to say that the frustrated, angry look suits you? I've never seen you look so beautiful… _eep_." The look she gave me just then was strongly reminiscent of her Oz days and scary as hell. "Maxwell." I just saluted and sat down to business. "We have a situation gentlemen." Emergency crews had been notified the night before to a possible fire in the warehouse by a concerned security guard from the next lot over. They were able to put it out before any serious damage was done. A careful check to be sure there were no stray sparks still going revealed something that flat terrified the Fire fighter who found it. A steady, quiet beep from a crate sitting dead center in the farthest aisle on the left led them to several pounds of plastic explosives. The LED was down to half an hour. Fortunately, the bomb squad arrived in time to disarm it and the search for more such little "presents" was **on. **She smiled, and again, the OZ officer and all 'round psychopath was showing through. "Good question, 01. Simply put, You are here because one, NO ONE left from OZ OR Romefeller knows anything about any artifacts, including your precious scientists. Reason two, you both have extensive knowledge of Romefeller and Oz's method of operations and strongholds.; and number three, both of you majored in history, 01 in ancient languages, and 02 in Archaeology. Any further questions?"

"One," I asked, just to get under her skin. "Can I have that dainish since you're not eating it?" I ducked behind Heero as the commander's neglected breakfast sailed past and crashed against the wall. "Baka."

"Look who's talking!" I yelled back from half way down the hallway as the coffee followed him out the door.

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The warehouse proved out to be a defunct holding abandoned some five or six years ago, just before the end of the first war. It is old, creepy, and currently crawling with Preventers. The artifacts themselves weren't ever that much to look at, mostly consisting of pots and edged weapons with the occasional carven image thrown in for good measure. Worth their weight in gold for their historical value, they were petty cash compared to what had been stored in some of those pots. Scrolls, scrolls so old that one or two crumbled to dust when they were opened in the forensics lab. And on closer inspection, they proved to have some REALLY creepy, REALLY graphic drawings in the margins. Drawings that had the wonderful effect of making me pass out cold on the lab floor.

Fainting is no fun, as I already knew, and waking up to the full on, double barreled death glare of ex-gundam pilot Heero Omae O Karosue Yuy is outright dismaying. "Status report 02." My head was throbbing in a familiar sort of way that told me speech was probably a bad idea, so the most appropriate gesture I could think of would have to do. Heero has gotten that gesture from me any number of times, and has progressed from drawing a gun on me to snorting in amusement and dragging me off to the next stage in the plan. Which he proceeded to do now; dragging me from the office infirmary under the eyes of a very disapproving head nurse(I just could _not _resist sticking my tongue out at her as we passedand down the hall to the same room that I had lately tried to concuss myself in. "You should be interested to know that your precious scrolls are so far intact, and appear to be written in some form of code, in three ancient languages. Namely Aramaic, an _early_ Ethiopian dialect, and even more ancient German. Only one of which I'm personally fluent in." I know I said Heero doesn't talk much, but that's not exactly the truth. He makes an exception when delivering bad news, which he gets some sick sense of pleasure in announcing; drawing out the horror as long as he possibly can. Asshole. Great, more complications in the form of outside experts whose opinions would have to be sought without rousing curiosity. Considering the age and amazing state of preservation of these scrolls, that was going to be next thing to impossible.

There were at least three drawings in particular that made me ill, though there were no further fainting fits, and they were all in the first scroll we opened. One was of a hooded, winged figure carrying an Egyptian Ankh in one hand and a strange split edged sword in the other. The flames surrounding the blade looked real enough to burn you if you touched them. The other two were less recognizable and took some time to identify. A circle of summoning and binding, according to Quatre (BA ancient religions), and another involving the redistribution of…Something… according a local expert on the ancient practices of alchemy and witchcraft. Not reassuring, but not seeming really important, until a major university recognized another drawing of a black hafted crude iron dagger as part of a collection from some ancient church in old Ethiopia; stolen from them two and a half decades before. Now, that was interesting. What on earth could a powerful company like Romefeller want with the dagger, and its fellow display pieces, that they couldn't just buy it outright? For that matter, why go to all the trouble of having these things stolen, only to abandon them in a place like this without taking any care whatsoever to preserve them? Things only got worse when it turned out that the actual dagger, certain of the scrolls, and many oddly carved iron chains and manacles were not here with the rest of the artifacts. And the scrolls found here were almost all from yet another collection that went missing from a private collector's stocks over 50 years ago. Now what on earth were they working on that spanned at least two continents, and half a century, through at least two wars, in such secrecy that not a single still living soul knew of it, only to drop it so abruptly without completing it? That _is_ assuming they didn't complete it. This was looking more strange and threatening by the minute and by the end of this last week I can fully sympathize with Lady Une's frustration. Just point me to the nearest gun range please…

THE END.


End file.
